


Forgive and Forget

by emmals16



Series: Whumptober 2020 and Febuwhump 2021 [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Connor Deserves Happiness, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Gen, Good Parent Hank Anderson, Hurt Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Hurt/Comfort, No Romance, Platonic Relationships, Poor Connor, Protective Hank Anderson, Rape/Non-con Elements, Whumptober, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:35:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27188716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmals16/pseuds/emmals16
Summary: For Whumptober 2020Prompts: Struggling, Drugged/ Poisoned, DisorientationHank and Connor go out to a bar to celebrate a solved case of theirs after a hard couple of weeks working on it. Things do not go as planned, and Connor, through a drugged haze of struggling and fear, is reminded that he hasn't yet moved past the demons he and Hank share.Or~Hank was violent with Connor throughout the game, and while Connor has forgiven him completely, he might not ever forget. And, a couple Red Ice dealers learn that their attempt to kidnap Connor is a huge mistake.
Relationships: Hank Anderson & Connor
Series: Whumptober 2020 and Febuwhump 2021 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1984523
Comments: 8
Kudos: 196





	Forgive and Forget

**Author's Note:**

> (Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Detroit: Become Human)
> 
> This would take place before Duct Tape and Without Hesitation if I were to make a timeline. Probably a month after the revolution or so.

“You know, you can’t give me shit about this later.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Just making sure,” Hank huffs a small laugh, lifting the shot glass up to his lips, “This was your idea.”

Connor smiles politely, leaning back in the stool, “It was.”

Hank empties the glass in one gulp, setting it down with a satisfied clunk. A smile spreads across Hank’s face and Connor can’t help but compare their setting to the one that he had found Hank in the day that they met. Hank had been hunched over his drink, hair hanging in his face like a curtain hiding him from everyone else in the bar. Connor much prefers this setting. He much prefers _this_ Hank.

“You’ve been good with withstanding your urges to drink, so I thought there would be no harm in this,” Connor lightly taps his own glass filled with nothing but thirium. The blue liquid sloshes around in the glass. Behind him, he can feel someone’s elbow accidentally brush up against his back. Sure, him and Hank were out celebrating...but the crowdedness of this place…

**_Stress Levels 44%_ **

If he didn’t feel like he’d be ruining Hank’s time, he’d probably ask if they could leave. He found very little pleasure in being completely surrounded by people and noise. Especially recently...it hadn't ever bothered him _before._

He didn’t even think Hank was aware of his discomfort half the time when he felt it. His stress levels would jump up another 10% and would slowly go up if Connor ignored it, but usually they would get done with their business before it ever became an issue. Still...

“Hey, why does it sound like you're talking about me as though I were a dog or something?” Hank snorts, waving down the bartender to give him another shot of whiskey, “‘Withstanding my urges’, that’s kind of messed up, Connor.”

Connor quirks an eyebrow, scooting towards Hank more when the invasive elbow behind him once again jabs him. The bartender is refilling his shot, so Hank doesn’t notice his movement, “Are you denying that you’re making progress.”

“God, I am _not_ having this conversation with you tonight, kid,” Hank once again downs his drink in one swift swallow. He clicks his tongue in satisfaction and then focuses entirely on Connor, “Why aren’t _you_ drinking, again?”

Connor sighs, flicking his glass of thirium thoughtlessly, “I didn’t feel the ‘urge’ to?”

**_Stress Levels 46%_ **

“Har har,” Hank leans forward, setting both elbows on the bar, “Listen, I don’t want to be the only one celebrating here, alright? We cracked this case together. Hell, you even chased that jackass a whole five blocks before _tackling_ him. _I_ couldn’t have done that shit, that’s for damn sure.”

Connor smiles pleasantly, “I won’t be able to drink much. I could get drunk _very_ quickly and then I won’t be able to drive you home.”

Hank rolls his eyes, “I may hate them to death, but there is such a thing as automated cars, you know. They were—”

“—made for this exact reason,” Connor finishes smugly, “I am aware, Hank.”

“Then have a drink and relax a little, kid. No harm in that.”

Connor turns back towards his glass of thirium, his smile wavering. He hadn't ever drank before. Drinking was something that was never seen as a pleasure for androids before. It was more of a way for owners of androids to seem less ‘creepy’ by letting them partake in party activities and meals with them instead of simply staring as they ate or drank. If they weren’t requested to join them, then the android would simply watch. There was no desire to drink, and Connor found this even now as a deviant. 

Still...they _were_ supposed to be celebrating.

**_Stress Levels 48%_ **

“What if I got what you’re drinking?”

The elbow behind him pushes him between his shoulder blades just as Hank turns to look at him in surprise. Laughter explodes behind Connor and he feels the rustling of clothing on his own as the group of men behind him down their own shots. Connor is just about to ask Hank his question again to make sure he heard when he stops. Hank’s expression has gone from content to irritated in a split second and Connor doesn’t have a chance to say something before Hank’s yelling.  
“Hey, you prick!” Hank yells past Connor, “Why don’t you watch it!”

Connor decides not to turn around, and is thankful when it seems that the people behind him have taken in Hank’s words without the desire to yell something back— consequently and no doubt causing a fight in the bar. 

Celebrating, Connor. They’re supposed to be celebrating. Not thinking about the fact that someone Connor doesn’t know keeps touching him and he doesn’t _like it_.

**_Stress Levels 50%_ **

Hank sighs out a perturbed breath of air, shaking his head and quickly calling down the bartender, “What was it you said, Connor?”

Connor jolts, shaking his thoughts away, “Uh, I was just saying that I wouldn’t be against trying what you’re having.”

Hank blinks at him before chuckling lightly, “Whiskey? You want to try Whiskey?”

Connor hesitates but nods and Hank just laughs again, looking at the bartender as though the man would understand what’s so funny. The bartender, for his part, smiles almost knowingly. It...weirds Connor out and he has to remind himself that Hank doesn’t know anyone here— not even the bartender. 

They had the discussion earlier that day when Connor had proposed going out to celebrate to Hank:

_‘I thought you would want to go to Jimmy’s is all.”_

_“I go to Jimmy’s all the time,” Hank had said, “Plus, this way, I won’t get banned from one of my regular places if some asshole decides to give you shit for being there and I knock them the fuck out.”_

Connor had reprimanded him, saying that Hank shouldn’t seek out violence and that he, himself, was plenty capable of ignoring any hateful rhetoric directed towards him. 

Hank had grumbled and the conversation ended. Yet they still ended up at a bar not even Hank knew anything about. Connor assumed that was Hank’s way of pushing his point without _actually_ saying anything. 

Hank’s smile faltered, “Listen, Connor. I’m not forcing you to do anything you don’t want to do, alright? You don’t want to drink, you don’t have to. No judgement here.”

The crowd behind Connor screams out ecstatic laughs. The elbow is back. Hank doesn’t notice this time. More people file into the bar.

**_Stress Level 54%_ **

Connor smiles, “I want to.”

Hank hesitates a moment, then nods, “Alright.”

Only a few seconds later does Connor have his own shot glass down in front of him— filled to the double line. The glass of thirium beside it contrasts greatly somehow. The dark almost shimmering liquid of one and the opaque blue vitality of the other. 

“Alright,” Hank starts, whisking up his own shot, “Now you have to down it in one. See?”

Hank tips his head back and swallows. He smiles at Connor then, setting the glass down, “Only this one. I don’t want to find out your even more of a light weight than normal androids—”

The elbow doesn’t knock into Connor this time. It knocks right into the two shot glasses in front of Connor, spilling the contents together into one liquid that resembles an oil spill and Connor finds his hands shooting up into the air without much thought, startled by the sudden mess. 

**_Stress Level 58%_ **

“Hey!”

Connor barely registers Hank’s shout over the sound of rampant apologies right behind him, and he’s turned and facing the scruffy looking middle-aged man before he even realizes that the bartender has set down two washrags to clean up the spilled liquid. 

“—rry, man. I didn’t see them there and I just got excited about the game—”

Hank’s standing, “You’ve been bumping into him all night, _man_.”

The mocking nature of Hank’s words seem to fly far above the scruffy man’s head and the guy is suddenly digging into his own wallet, still sending apologies their way. Connor’s brain finally manages to catch up with the situation. 

“It’s alright, I was just startled is all.”

Hank’s face wrinkling in distaste, “Connor, don’t play this off like you haven’t been bothered by this guy and his group all night.”

“It’s been no bother,” Connor lies. 

The loudness of the bar was mainly due to the group of five men and two women behind him. They had come in right after Hank and Connor had shown up and _of course_ they chose to sit right next to Connor. 

“Let me buy you another one, eh? To replace it?”

“Be my guest,” Hank huffs, turning to his empty glass and pulling a few dollar bills out of his wallet to pay for the drinks he and Connor had gotten. He slaps the bills down a little too hard and then taps Connor on his shoulder, “I’m going to go get the car and park up front. Meet me out there when you’re done with your new drink, alright? That way I don’t end up decking anyone.”

Connor nods and so Hank leaves. 

**_Stress Levels 60%_ **

“Sorry again, man.”

Connor jumps again when a new glass is placed in front of him, this time set down by the man beside him. Connor shrugs, eyeballing the shot glass of whiskey, “Forgiven. No harm done.”

The man turns his back to his own group as Connor lifts the shot and moves it up to his mouth. With a deep, unneeded breath, he quickly downs the glass’ contents. The liquid burns down his throat. Not in the way it would warm a human, but in the way that it sends slight sharp electrocutions down his throat. That’s what it feels like, at least. 

Connor hums to himself, moving to stand from the stool. 

“You’re an android, right?”

**_Possibly dangerous foreign matter identified in system…_ **

**_Purge Recommended...._ **

  
  


Connor looks questionably at the man, noting the odd glances from some other members of his group. They’re not angry or disgusted faces. No, more curious or fascinated. Even _excited_. It causes Connor to pause, taking in the abnormal reaction to his presence in a gathering place. He hesitates in leaving, only for a moment. 

“Yes.”

“Wow, didn’t know they made models like _you,_ ” the scruffy man says, looking Connor up and down in a way that makes a few warning bells in Connor’s head go off, “I didn’t know androids could hold their liquor, either.”

Connor glances around him nervously, “They can’t, really. Only a small amount. What would be equal to three shots is about how much an android should stop at.”

The scruffy man shrugs, “Hey, I’ve seen humans hold a lot less than that.”

A woman joins the scruffy man, and somehow Connor has found himself facing them, no longer moving to stand up. Odd...but, it was nice for a change to see people interested in seeing him and speaking with him...if not completely unnerving. And this was, especially, quite unnerving.

“He say he was an android?” The woman mumbles, then her expression lights up, “Oh yeah! Look at his temple. There’s one of those circular things.”  
Connor touches his temple lightly, side eying the exit of the bar as two more people enter, “It’s my LED.”

“Right, right,” The woman mutters, waving a dismissive hand in front of her, “Most androids have removed them, though. It’s a lot harder to pick them out in a crowd, now.”

A man comes and takes up Hank’s abandoned seat. The bartender has already taken away Hank’s shot glass and payment. Weird that...he hadn't even noticed the bartender come over and whisk away the objects. Connor blinks, taking note of his own shot glass missing as well. 

**_Stress Levels 64%_ **

“I should get going,” Connor mumbles, staring at the area that his shot glass was _supposed_ to be but no longer was at. How long had gone by? Hank was probably waiting for him outside already if so much had already happened around him.

Connor moves to stand but falters, one of his knees completely failing at taking his weight. Air rushes past his face but he doesn’t meet the floor. Shouts of surprise fill the sounds around him and two pairs of hands are suddenly on him— holding him up. 

“Woah! Woah there!” A female voice says...that woman. The one who was part of the obnoxious group. Connor looked up to see her looming over him. Her expression read as concern, but her eyes…

Something about her eyes was different. Almost cold. 

“Does alcohol usually affect androids this fast?” another voice— the man, the scruffy man, said into his ear and Connor shakes his head, suddenly seeing all the colors around him blurring together into a kaleidoscope of colors and faces. 

So many faces. Faces looming at him from across the room— across the room...across the break room. Ripping into his hand and his chest.

 _What?_ Connor squints, faintly hearing people talking around him, but he’s too focused on the sudden surge of a memory popping into his vision.

“—et’s get...outside, man,” someone murmurs, someone he definitely doesn’t know well and someone he doesn’t think he _should_ be listening to, “You don’t...good.”

**_Stress Levels 70%_ **

His feet practically drag against the floor, a group of people following with him. Two strong pressures around each of his upper arms. Hands around his upper arm...no, _a_ hand—dragging him from where he’d fallen. Some rooftop, shot, shoulder, seeing _fear fear fear…_

“Fucker is heavy—”

“—et us a hefty penny, though.”

“Been ages...found an android—ed ice.”

“The dealer…give us a cut, too.” 

**_Stress Levels 74%_ **

Connor’s vision is suddenly dark— not because of his eyes being closed, however. Figures loom down on him. Faces darkened by...night? Outside? Are they outside?

Someone grabs a hold of the front of his shirt no longer supporting him but dragging him completely, not only his feet, across the ground by the collar of his shirt. The material is no doubt stretching out. Hank had bought it for him...weeks ago.

The hand on the collar is suffocating. Hand… _Hank’s hand_ once grabbed him like this…slammed him into a wall...threatened him...

Connor doesn’t like being touched.

He moans out pathetically, arms flopping around now as though they each weigh two tons. Red fills his HUD and he can’t dismiss the readings fast enough to try and fight off the fog invading his senses. Murmurs of voices sound off above him, another pair of hands grab hold of his legs and Connor _somehow_ manages to kick out.

“Goddamnit!” 

_“Don’t go after them, Connor, that’s an order!”_

_He jumped the fence, the highway just ahead._

_“Connor! Goddamnit!”_

“The little punk broke my fucking tooth!”

“Cool it, Beverley.”

The hands and the grip on his shirt are suddenly gone and Connor falls to the ground roughly. He lays there for only a moment before attempting to move. He ignores what sounds distinctly like arguing— 

“What...mean _cool it_?”

Connor gasps, managing to flip over onto his side from his stomach 

“We don’t...time for _that_.”

“Yea, relax Beverley.”

Connor gets one hand in front of him and tries to drag himself further. He _thinks_ he sees a green dumpster down the way...an alley? Is he in an alley? He doesn’t remember passing the threshold to even _be_ outside... 

**_Incoming call… Hank Anderson…_ **

**_< Answer?>_ **

**_< Decline?>_ **

Connor gasps when a hand grabs him by his hair, lifting him from the ground. He shouts out suddenly, and just as suddenly a hand wraps around his head, covering his mouth completely. Two fingers squeezed his nose, preventing him from even making any exhalation noises. Connor blinks dully at the blurring lines in front of him where he thinks he sees...feet? A door...with light underneath it. Garbage...cigarette butts.

“You’re...regret that.”

**_Stress Levels 78%_ **

**< Answer>**

**_“Connor? I’ve been waiting for ten fucking minutes. You almost done?”_ **

The hand stays firmly over his mouth, and Connor can’t focus enough to send his voice without outwardly speaking. Doesn’t have enough energy. Something that’s...never been a problem before. His eyes grow heavy, also something that has never rally been a problem. 

**_“Connor? Helloooooo?”_ **

The hand gripping his hair pushes, and suddenly Connor’s face planted into the concrete. His HUD ignites into flashing colors of white and red, fading to black along the edges. Hank’s caller I.D. flickers, his voice coming across in jagged sounds which resemble some form of question. 

**_Stress Levels 85%_ **

**_“—nor, aAre— OKaaaaaaay?”_ ** _  
  
_

Connor gasps into the hand around his mouth. He can taste some sort of chemical on this man’s hand...something that pushes forward through his processor as it rights itself.

**_CCOlllllllleeeeecting dATA…_ **

**_AAnnaLlyzed… Alkaline CLeaaaaninG ComPONENTsssss… BleaCh..._ **

Connor blinks at the information spread across his vision as he’s flipped over onto his back. Cleaning components...on the man’s hands. Why would he still have bleach on his hands after being in a bar for hours…?

Bar...right, he was in a bar with Hank. 

They were supposed to be celebrating their finished case…

Connor doesn’t like being touched. 

Connor tries to huff a breath of air, squinting up at the face of the scruffy man from inside the bar. His visage blurs rapidly in front of him after he identifies him. Connor’s eyes flutter, his arms unable to be moved any longer. Sounds around him are dull except for the distinct feeling and sound of his thirium pump pounding away in his chest and in his head and _everywhere._

There’s a hand at Connor’s waist, the one in his hair long gone. The scruffy man smirks down at him menacingly and Connor can only manage to blink dully at him, failing to even meet the man’s gaze. 

Why...why was he in the alley again?

Had Hank taken him out here for something...but Hank wasn’t around. Maybe he was home...at _his_ home. Not Connor’s.

_“Get the fuck outta my house!”_

Connor flinched at the unwelcome memory flashing into his HUD.

The hand at his waist moved further down, grabbing ahold of Connor’s belt and yanking a few times to undo it. 

**_Stress Levels 89%_ **

“Beverley!”

“A second, damnit,” the scruffy man’s breath ghosts over Connor’s flickering eyes, “Just some evidence...leave that asshole...snapped at me about...android.”

As soon as the belt was ripped away from his waist and thrown to the side, Connor’s eyes flickered closed. Too heavy to force open any longer.

“Then we can...outta here and…” The man comes closer, his hand shoving the waistband of Connor’s jeans down further on his hips, “Enjoy...a treat… then you’re going to die…”

**_Stress Levels 94%_ **

_“But are you afraid to die, Connor?”_

**_Stress Levels 98%_ **

Light flooded the alleyway shining through Connor’s closed eyelids. There was a click that could have just as well been an explosion, “Get the fuck off of him, right now!”

“Fuck!”

“He has a gun, watch ou—”

“Jesus Christ!”

The hands remove themselves from him, and something trips over one of Connor’s legs. Connor tries to open his eyes but can’t manage to, merely listening to the startled cries of the people around him. His thirium pump rages in his ears, practically vibrating his processor. 

“Get the fuck back here, you pieces of shit!”

There’s the roaring engine of a truck, gravel vibrating right next to Connor’s face. The sounds around him slowly fade until the alley could almost be considered silent. 

Almost. 

“Oh, Christ...” there’s hurried scuffing against the ground coming closer to him, and the next thing he knows there hands once again, yanking up his jeans and brushing something off of his face. The pressure of the fingers beneath his nose feels sticky...like blood. Like thirium? 

Connor doesn’t like being touched. 

He huffs, twisting his head away from the hands.

“—need an ambulance...android...drugged, I think…”

The hand is back despite Connor’s attempt to shake it. It dabs softly against his nose and his lip and forehead. Connor sighs softly.

**_Stress Levels 88%_ **

“Not sure with what… might have been...xually assaulted, God...Jesus Fucking Chr—”

**_Rest Mode activating in 10...9...8…_ **

“Connor?”

**_7...6...5…_ **

“Hang on for me, alright?”

**_4...3…_ **

“Buddy? Please, just…moment longer!”

**_2...1…_ **

**_Rest Mode Engaged._ **

**_~~~_ **

**_Rest Cycle Completed…_ **

**_._ **

**_._ **

**_._ **

**_Dangerous foreign matter identified in system…_ **

**_Purge Recommended...._ **

**_Stress Levels 35%_ **

**_Complete Reboot…?_ **

**_< Yes?>_ **

**_< No?>_ **

**_._ **

**_._ **

**_._ **

**_< Yes>_ **

**_Rebooting…_ **

Connor has woken up plenty of times on the couch in Hank’s home. That was, after all, where he usually spent his nights. Wherever he was now...it was _not_ Hank’s couch. 

It smells like something familiar just the same, though. Like...mildew. Old toothpaste. Clorox…

Connor blinks his eyes open, darkness around him except for the slight sliver of light coming in from the almost shut door and a small plug in light in the electrical socket. He squints in the darkness, immediately noting the sink towering over him and, much closer than he was expecting, the toilet. 

Connor moves his arm slightly, finding resistance in the form of something soft wrapped around him. Despite the resistance, Connor manages to sit up, two blankets falling from his shoulders and pooling by his waist. He’s still wearing the clothes he remembers having on last. Behind him are pillows...that look to be from Hank’s room?

That’s odd...usually Hank prefers that Connor stay out of his room and leave everything inside untouched. 

Hank’s room…

Hank’s pillows…

He’s at Hank’s house, then.

In his bathroom, to be more precise, covered in blankets and surrounded by pillows on the floor and directly next to the toilet. Why, though? Being _here_ of all places made no sense— 

**_Purge Engaged..._ **

Connor gags once before he was throwing himself at the toilet, ripping the lid open and emptying his artificial stomach without any permission on his part. A high pitch squeal is the only thing he hears around him as he is forced to get rid of all the contaminated thirium in his stomach. 

He barely notices the soft squeak of the door and a soft hand laying softly on his back as he coughs and hacks into the toilet bowl. 

“—et it out. There you go,” a soft, tired voice murmurs, “You’re fine. Just breathe.”

Connor lets out a few more, deep and wet hacks before pushing himself backwards and practically falling into the pillow-covered wall behind him. He blinks his eyes open to be met with exactly what he assumed to be blankets and pillows from Hank’s couch and bed, making a sort of nest on the bathroom floor. And joining that was a pair of legs standing in front of him a good foot away. 

Connor shakily rubs at his eyes, shaking his head and looking upward to the bearded figure, “Hank?”

Hank huffs, looking like he wants to step forward but not doing so in the end, “Good to see you up, kid.”

Connor sniffs, feeling drained from his forced purging, “Why am I in the bathroom?”

“You just puked your guts out in my toilet, Connor, why else do you think,” Hank snorts, but the humor quickly dies, “I was told that you’d probably be forced to throw up once you woke up, _so_ I figured, y’know, to make it easier.”

Connor looks to Hank quizzically, “But alcohol shouldn’t make androids throw up, especially with how little I had.”

Hank looks extremely uncomfortable then, looking down to Connor like it's almost unbearable and Connor suddenly feels _very_ exposed and uncertain about his place there at that moment. 

“It...um, wasn’t for the alcohol, Connor,” Hank mumbles, squatting down but keeping his distance, “You, well, were basically drugged, kid.”

And Connor finally remembers it all. Remembers taking the drink without thinking, remembers being dragged outside and remembers that _man_ on top of him…

“Oh…”

Hank scrubs his hands together, a troubled look on his face, “Look, Connor, I’m sorry for just diving into this but, I _have_ to know...did…”

Hank stops, forcing himself to look Connor in the eye and Connor can see the distant fear barely being forced down written in his eyes.

“Connor, did they _touch_ you…” Hank’s lip wobbles and Connor feels like his thirium pump has been forced into an arrhythmia at the sight, “Did they…Christ, please say they didn’t—”

And despite being out of it at the time, Connor knows the answer. 

“No.”

Hank stares at him as though trying to _force_ Connor to tell the truth if he wasn’t. 

“They didn’t, Hank,” Connor says, “You got there in time.”

And all the stress in Hank’s frame suddenly melts away like molten glass falling by the grace of gravity. His shoulders fall from tension and his face crumbles, “Thank fucking _God_ . I don’t...I don’t know what I would’ve _done_ if...”

Hank takes three deep breaths, a loud sob erupting from his throat before he lunges for Connor. Connor flinches but doesn’t move away as Hank’s arms envelope him in a tight but tender hug. 

“I’m not letting you out of my sight _ever_ again, you little shit,” Hank gasps out, hand gripping the back of his shirt in a tight handful and the other coming up to cup the back of Connor’s head, right over where his head had been yanked around by his hair, “God, if they had...if they _had_ , I would have walked into the precinct and fucking killed them. I would have…I swear, I would have.”

If at all possible, the hug tightens slightly at the prospect reemerging. And the idea that those who had assaulted him and drugged him and tried to take him to get siphoned for thirium were already caught and jailed doesn’t really cross Connor’s mind as he felt Hank’s shaking arms around him at that moment. Neither does the fact that Hank had dragged him home, probably after being checked over by the ambulance Connor remembers him calling, and set him up in the bathroom with half of the comfort items he owned in the house. 

Connor slowly moves his hands, gripping the back of Hank’s T-Shirt in his iron grip just the same. 

Connor doesn’t like being touched. 

He doesn’t think he ever really will. 

But this...this is okay, he thinks. 

_This_ is okay. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I was just playing around with the idea that, maybe Connor didn't exactly leave everything behind him when he deviated. He was in a lot of combat zones and had seen plenty of killing at that point, too. I mean, Jesus, Hank pointed a gun at his head. Even if they care about each other now, that isn't just forgotten. 
> 
> Plus, I mean, the comparison between hating-Connor Hank and loving-Connor Hank is SWEEEET
> 
> Hope you enjoyed :)


End file.
